


Different colours

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, ArtStudent!Ashton, Ashton Irwin - Freeform, Calum Hood - Freeform, Cashton, Fluff, Highschool AU, Jock - Freeform, Kisses, Love, M/M, Muke - Freeform, Muke Clemmings, Romance, art student, high school romance, highschool!au, jock!calum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:37:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum was the undisturbed ruler of the school. Whatever he said goes, and no one could knock him off the two feet he stood proudly on. He thought he found love and peace, but failing classes means that assistance is needed. And once he meets his 'helper', his mind and heart distance into their own separate places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Out of my way

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is my first slash fic *crosses fingers*. Hopefully you enjoy it!  
> A/N!: I'm in preparation for AS Level exams so updates are more than likely going to be slow. I'm sorry :(  
> Give me feedback on here, or [my Tumblr](http:michaelgordcn.tumblr.com/)

'normal'-Calum /  **'Bold'-Ashton /** _Italic-Luke_ / _**'Bold Italic'-Michael**_ / Other characters/aspects-Underlined

The high pitched ringing of his phone alarm reverberated throughout his entire bedroom, causing him to shuffle within the large bundle of blankets at 6am. Although it was early in the morning, the outside world begged to differ. The sky was pitch black, the view empty and lacklustre, as the only form of light were those of headlights of drivers heading to their destinations. His blinds were shut, only adding to the absence of light that engulfed the large space which he deemed his 'man-cave.' With only a small inch of energy that refused to help his current exhaustion, a large grunt of annoyance left his mouth, quickly licking over the chapped skin of his parched lips as he emitted his morning breath into the air, taking in a sharp inhale of oxygen. And once his body started to adjust to the early awakening, small images started to flash in his mind about the night before.

It was a night to end the weekend: starting off in a high,(literally), but ending with a low from the thought of being pulled out, and pushed into the building in which he is educated in. The first hour of the fiasco started in a friends house. The party was more than just a little heavy; barely clothed, sweaty bodies packed together in a large huddle, as smoke choked the air. It was an atmosphere one would probably find claustrophobic. But due to the intoxicating mixtures of various alcoholic liquids that were poured down their throats, their minds were clouded with the insobriety that Vodka and Whiskey provided. Pills were being passed around, resembling the situation in which children would go insane for various sweets their mothers handed to them: keeping them quiet as their minds fell further into oblivion. Calum was more used to it than anyone else. Being part of "the elitists" of the school came with its own set of incentives: and erratic parties just so happened to be one of them. So of course with a "small get-together", it wouldn't be revolving around lady fingers and flavoured iced teas. Instead of formal vocabulary, curses ruthlessly left the mouths of rebellious delinquents who had nothing to lose. Something strong would be poured down their throats every few seconds, throwing cups to the ground in drunk states. Their way of a pathetic act of rebellion. But parties like this one were renowned. If you came to a party like this, expect yourself to be popular to at least the rest of the year. Everything else that happened last night? It's now nothing but a blur that only resulted in sharp shoots of pain that immersed his skull from the smallest of thoughts.

And once the comfort of bedsheets left his grasp, he was met with a crude chill that immediately gave him shivers. Small goosebumps aligned his forearms, the warmth now fading as his feet hit the cold hardwood floors. He made direct contact with the cold chill, instantly hitting him unpleasantly, as he finally made his way to get ready, after 10 minutes of pure procrastination from getting out of bed. Muffled conversation could be heard underneath the wooden floors: the familiar voices of his mother and father could be heard partially clearly, but right now, it was too early for Calum Hood. It would be moments like this where the average teenager would regret the actions from the night before, but for him, it was moderate: he's experienced worse. And the reminisce of the taste of alcohol that lay flat on his tongue didn't phase him, the familiar taste now swallowed down his throat, in addition to a harsh suck of saliva.

Whilst getting ready for school, his routine was disrupted several times from the vibrations that his phone emitted. Around every few seconds: his phone would vibrate, dancing along his desk. A light would flash, along with the name and message, most likely reminders to tell Calum to hurry up so him and his crop of friends wouldn't land themselves in another session of detention. Being popular always had a territory. In the eyes of students: you were the cool kids. The ones no one wanted to mess with, and would practically bow down to or do silly things in order to get their attention. Calum and his flock of older kids were the ones that everyone feared. In the eyes of faculty and staff however, he wasn't special. 'Wannabe', 'pathetic', and several other phrases would always form the basis of some form of conversation in the staff room, teachers debating the right terms to address them by, all whilst sipping on a cup of steaming hot coffee.

The morning continued to proceed more quickly than expected. From getting up at 6:15am, it was now 6:50am, and he was now making his way downstairs to going his parents for a basic breakfast. Clad in an all black ensemble, his raven locks were styled perfectly into a quiff, pulling the look together in order to distract from the heavy shadows that lay mercilessly underneath his eyes. The purple and blue that contributed to his dark circles emphasised the exhaustion that still lay heavily on his entire body, more than likely causing suspicion among his parents as he solemnly walked into the kitchen. He muttered a quiet 'good morning', observing the kitchen for a few seconds before decided on a fresh and ripe orange, quickly grabbing for the piece of fruit and scurrying out in order to avoid any form of conversation.

Calum's relationship with his parents was one that confused even him at times. There were several moments where he questioned the legitimacy of the biological relationship he and his parents had. Most times: Calum and his parents were like chalk and cheese. Many a time have they disagreed over a small issue, escalating into something more raging. And considering that his mother and father were at work the majority of their time; fixing small problems seemed impossible at the current moment. And whilst he was in the midst of finishing the juicy, fresh piece of fruit: he felt the vibrations of his mobile phone press against his jean clad legs. Silent for a moment, the piece of technology emitted a loud 'buzz', before lighting the screen to reveal a text message:

'We're outside of your house.'

The simple sentence from his friends lit a small spark of excitement in his body. His mood instantly perked from the sombre emotions from earlier in the morning, discarding the slight amount of unease that an "excessive" amount of alcohol can sometimes provide. A pair of converse-clad feet promptly carried him out of his house, the crisp morning air gently blowing into his face. The familiar scent of alcohol and cannabis he was accustomed to was replaced with a clean scent. Nothing special to anyone else, but to Calum, it was like a small relief to be away from the hectic lifestyle of a jock. A moment was spent embracing the scenery of the outside world: the direct antitheses to his earlier actions, in which he was cursing at the world for still resembling nightfall. However, his moment of peace was now replaced with the slightly crude reminder of reality, as he observed his two closest friends, now impatiently waiting in the driver and back seats of a run down Renault.

His mahogany eyes observed the vehicle intently. Chipped grey paint that used to resemble the glossiness of a fresh silver car, now dull and lacklustre as several splotches of scratched material were scattered throughout the body of the car. A shattered side mirror reminded him of the lesson he learnt about the extent to which drunk anger would take him. Missing pieces of glass would always divert his attention to his hand, his eyes now intently staring at the large scar that lay on the back of his left hand. it was a night like no other, the location resembling the epitome of a typical party that Calum and his friends would most likely attend, or host. Concoctions of several intoxicating alcoholic liquids ran ruthlessly down his throat; the burning sensation easing him as his mind proceeded to lose connection with the real world. Beer pong, heated sessions of Truth or Dare, and many more accompanied the hectic evening, ending at an early 2:37am before proceeding over to his best friends' car. The faint, yet thick accent of Luke Hemmings was audible behind him as Calum stood adjacent to the vehicle, observing the used and abused car as if it was an artistic masterpiece. Within his crop of friends, Calum was known as the drinker out of the bunch. Any drink that so happened to land in his palms, was down his throat in the click of a finger. He would never be accustomed to the brutal hangovers of the next day: the glory of underage drinking working in full swing. Luke, on the other hand, presented himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. He was a character down to lose his sobriety within a mere 4 minutes, but he had greater control over his body and actions, compared to his friends, particularly. Luke loved it when alcohol was able to engulf his body and deter him into a state of pure bliss, but once something suspicious or dangerous arose, he was back to reality. He had greater self-control, and knew between right and wrong whilst drunk; something underage teenagers like him would never get the grasp of.

_'Watch it.'_

The simple two words would always be spoken in a stern manner, revealing the more mature, adult aspect of Luke Hemmings. His tongue would be covered in saliva, instinctively licking over the chapped skin of both upper and bottom lip in a state of frantic worry and panic at the next action of the next person he was attempting to divert. This time, it was Calum. Anger would always arise in his body at the most unexpected of times, but whenever he was drunk, it was imminent that the several months of anger management sessions he was forced to endure would no longer be of use. Rage would circulate in uncomfortable swarms in the pit of his stomach, proceeding to reach every part of his body, before lashing out in pure ambiguity and exacerbation. Usually, it was a brick wall, or any flat surface that wouldn't cost a ridiculous amount in damages. However, the closest thing in front of him was Lukes' car. Previous experiences of punching the vehicle of a close one were plastered in his mind, including the torn skin that would rest upon his knuckles for the following months to come. His hands would clench, instigating a sharp pain, making him wince in agony as small tears would line the inner rim of his eyes. However, he never felt greater relief of a collective amount of frustration, than to hear a sheet of glass break in a second. His left hand came into contact with the side mirror, swinging at full force until the cracks of glass shards formed a pattern, on the destroyed mirror. His left hand was the last thing he paid attention to, as he only left the extent of his intoxicated actions settle into his mind once at the hospital, and diluted alcoholic product was being applied onto open gashes. It's pain he wishes to never feel again, or a situation he prays to never reappear in his life. Hence the scar that freely decorated his left hand.

He sauntered over and entered the car with a muted expression evident on his face, as the plump, wet flesh of his lips were pressed together to reveal a firm line that refused to shift in the slightest. The expressions of Luke, as well as close friend Michael Clifford, mirrored the same expressions of each other perfectly. Luke was the designated driver, but the exhaustion that persistently rippled throughout his body caused his driving ability to deplete significantly. In addition to almost running over several red lights, diverting through traffic was virtually impossible, as well as extremely dangerous. The urge to get to school on time was all too extravagant now, but the delay of first period allowed more time for safety to become the main priority. His blonde, tousled locks were styled in shaggy manner, resembling the appearance of rolling out of bed. Compared to Calum's effort to style and present himself in at least a decent manner to distract from last night, Luke and Michael did not care one bit. They liked to preserve their reputation as the type to 'go hard or go home', and any action to try and deter would frankly make them cringe. Michael presented himself in a similar way to Luke. With platinum blonde locks sprawled across his head, the dyed substance made itself evident, due to the irregular fading between root and end. The bar that represented his eyebrow piercing was in the same position it was placed in from the start of the hectic evening. The reflective metal shone from the stubby, scattered hairs that defined the shape of his left eyebrow, lifting upwards, and down with the changes of facial expressions. Stubble decorated his mouth,giving Michael a sexy, yet lazy quality. And plump red lips that glistened with saliva contrasted greatly with his alabaster complexion. However, there was one thing that all three boys had in common: they were all dressed in all black outfits. The distinct colour difference between the articles of clothing that they wore compared to other students represented their position in the hierarchy of the school. The darker the colour: you're either more popular, or there was a darker, more mysterious aspect to your personality that was waiting to be discovered by the right person.

The conversation that occurred during the car ride mainly consisted of the best events from the night before. Several phrases were passed around by the three boys, demonstrating their pulling techniques that successfully worked on both lady and man. The cockiness of instances including being pinned against the wall, heated make-out sessions and travelling up a set of stairs as drunken messes was clearly evident from the way that they spoke; all 3 now perfecting their speech to deliver to the rest of the jocks at the lunch table. It seemed to be perfect timing, because once the conversation started to lack the specialist 'formality' of explicit scenes, Luke was now driving into the school parking lot.

One look up towards the school building, and all three boys seemed to be smacked around the face with reality. The unappealing building reignited the several distasteful thoughts that Calum had collectively piled together: he would rather be somewhere else. The entirety of the exterior was lined with plain grey walls, decorated with faded creations of graffiti that once represented the amount of illegal activity that took place in the surrounding area. Fights were always a regular occurrence. It was rare for the school to be at peace for at least 5 days, as students would regularly meet in various spots that were known as areas to fight in. Large crowds would form around the two students whom initially started the encounter, but within a few minutes it would escalate to a presence similar to that of a mosh pit, turning into an unorganised, and mainly chaotic events that consisted of unsynchronised chants. Teachers or at least a member of staff would usually pull a fight apart and evacuate the location, but at this specific school, no teacher cared for the delinquents. With a group of near 100 students who excelled: all attention was diverted to them. The treatment of the less able is similar to a favourite song lyric of Michaels: 'nobody prays for the worthless.'

"I guess i'll see you boys later at lunch."

And with that farewell, in addition to a couple of fist-bumps, Calum stepped out of the car. The warmth that engulfed his body from inbuilt heating was now replaced with an indelicate gust of cool air that swiftly caused shivers to ripple throughout his body. His head shook in denial of the erratic weather that was now escalating into something worse, but was able to scurry along the tarmac covered concrete in order to reach the school entrance. As soon as he entered the school building, he stumbled upon an unusual sight. It would usually be a certainty that the narrow corridors would be packed to the brim with students. Nerds, Jocks, and a variation of people who represented different 'social-groups' would immerse the skinny hallways, and several events would be taking place within the time period to reach class A to class B: 5 minutes. From a fight, to a couple ruthlessly making-out in front of a locker; there was a lot that arose when one would simply walk to their next class. This time however, it was like barren land. The presence of the hallways was immaculate: and demonstrated the talent of the caretakers whom has to deal with several disgusting acts of students: mainly litter. He took a quick glance at his gold watch, which now showed Calum that he had five minutes until his next class would start.

One thing Calum did like about school was that his locker was close to the main entrance of the building. In a short space of time, he could accomplish a lot from the location of his locker. He didn't have to strut around the school in order to find it, and when he did, he could either be on his way to a class, or on his way home more quickly compared to another student. In addition, his pin was simple. All he had to do was remember "5593".

With only a couple of minutes to spare, his backpack was pulled out of the confined space of his locker, and swung around his shoulders. The heavy weight his backpack provided reminded him of the homework he was yet to complete, a small strain that was applied onto his shoulder blade for a mere few seconds, before disintegrating into a non-existent pain. Although it was only a couple of minutes to himself, it gave Calum time to revel in the simplicity of peace. Similar to the feeling of fresh air he felt earlier, even though he was in what he liked to call "another juvenile facility." 

However, what he thought was an empty corridor, was an incorrect thought. The sound of his footsteps became unsynchronised with another pair of feet that walked along the polished floors, the sound of squeaky movements becoming more audible, the closer he was reaching. Calum wasn't usually bothered about seeing others, as others mainly feared him. But this time around, it was different. The boy that was walking in front of him paid no attention to Calums' presence, instead infatuated with his own thoughts about cultural art. The boys hands were illuminated with stains of different coloured paints, representing the extensive effort one would put into their own creations. Short wavy locks were pulled back into a tight bun, secured with a black elastic to ensure that no flyways or baby hairs would stick to his forehead when sweat aligned his hairline in pure concentration. He was dressed in all black as well, but most certainly did not have the same status as Calum Hood.

Both parties seemed to have not been paying attention as to what was in front of them, but took notice when bodies collided together. It was a harsh shove: shoulder hitting shoulder, sending the unknown boy flying to the side in reaction. Calum's temper immediately started to raise, his attention and diverting to the boy who he just shoved. Taking a look at the boys state now: there was an undeniable aspect of his physical looks that started to draw him in with quick instinct. Hazel eyes, a distinct jawline, and rosy cheeks. Built thighs clad in tight black skinny jeans, accompanied by chocolate brown chelsea boots, with a gold ring that secured around a pointer finger to finish the effortless look together. But Calum Hood being Calum Hood, he let the impulsive aspect of his anger get the better of him, now thinking that he could get the final say in an encounter he thought would be insignificant.

'Watch where you're going.'

**'More like you need to watch where you're going. Move out of my way next time.'**

 


	2. Not so nice meeting you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Calum to finally realise that he isn't so supreme after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Excuse the mess that is this chapter*  
> But if you did enjoy :'), please leave me kudos and comment. It would really help because I haven't gotten much feedback. I'm putting all of my time and effort into this fanfic, and I would love to hear what my audience thinks!  
> Also, head on over to [my Tumblr](http://michaelgordcn.tumblr.com) and message me there if you like :)  
> 

'Mr.Hood.'

The familiar, yet obscenely foreign voice sent an echo through the now quiet classroom; catching the attention of the raven-haired boy who continued to tap his  calloused fingertips against ink vandalised wood. Chocolate brown eyes immediately looked up to his now annoyed teacher, who continued to impatiently wait with both hands pressed tightly against his hips. Sweat due to a moment of intense stress made itself clearly evident from his facial expressions: as fine lines were now prominent more than ever, the closer his students came to exam season. 

Art History was always a subject Calum was never fond of. He never understood the "importance" of why artists were so significant in the modern interpretation of historic times. Known faces such as Van Gogh were people Calum refused to even bat an eyelash at. In his eyes, all he saw was a vase full of flowers that anyone could replicate; the only thing he now believes is that death brings fame. The rejection of loving such a subject was also another factor that contributed to the image of a jock. Nerds, or art geeks at the least, would be the ones to indulge in such subjects that would allow the best expression of individuality. American football on the other hand, was where its at(in his eyes at least). The adrenaline he felt from a collision from fellow players ignited a surge that not many could compete with. Being positioned as quarter-back always had its main perks. A placement on the football team also had the assets usually classed as being "stereotypical" of a jock: and the status seemed to be it. People would always be intrigued once any mention of playing the sport arose from his mouth, ending his declaration of love for the game with a wink to whom he found attractive in the crowd that surrounded the "popular kids" table in the dining room. Moreover, no subject seemed to compete with the "importance" American Football provided Calum. Its a quality of his personality that Michael and Luke pride themselves in when watching him boast at every provided time.

The small eye contact Calum replied with was enough to guarantee his teacher that he was now paying some attention. No vulnerability or desire to abide by his rules seemed to show, leaving his teacher on the brink of giving up on Calum Hood overall. It was now 7 months into the school year, and it seemed to be the same routine for Calum in Art History ever since the first lesson. Enter, don't pay attention, and leave. Ultimately leaving his teacher with the imminent possibility that he was going to fail the class. He knew that trying to intervene and possibly straighten him out was like treading in dangerous waters. Anger was always palpable in his facial expressions, as well as Calum's body language. The last thing that his teacher wanted was to file out a police report, and send a pissed off Calum Hood home on suspension. 

"What did I just say?"

"Something about The Scream."

His frankly pathetic response resulted in an exasperated groan leaving the mouth of his frustrated teacher. Small and muffled sniggers could be heard from the art geeks in the corner, leaving Calum embarrassed for a split second. But realising the potential his reputation gave him, a simple 90 degree turn with a cold dirty look was enough to keep them quiet for the remainder of the lesson. Calum's head inevitably shook in confusion, as thoughts saying that he was right continued to swirl in his brain. In his eyes, he was never wrong. In Michael's eyes, he wasn't. In reality, however, he was far from accurate. Trying to get him to understand the most simple of terms was like trying to communicate with a baby: he dismissed any form of conversation where his failures would be addressed. Calum didn't take so long to detect the displeasure of his teachers answer, as the simple motion of a head shake was enough. With the suspense among the constricting room now starting to build, the last ounce of his thinly-spread energy was now drained from an exacerbating groan of irritation. His eyebrows stayed in a furrowed position until the relieving sound of a ringing bell was all that he could hear. But for now, he was less than pleased than to be here. Vulnerability was always something Calum refused to show the slightest of, as there was only one thing he could think of when it came to fear. It must never be shown.  It was as if his status was more than just a reputation one would carry for a mere few years, and would possibly determine the amount of popularity he would secure and carry when he graduates. Unfortunately, the ignorance was able to influence him in more ways than one, and it's what he now believed. The traits of a senior jock who was a quarterback seemed to influence him in several ways: from the informal vocabulary that never failed to leave his plump lips, to the care-free attitude. His eyes were now starting to deplete from glimmering chocolate brown, to a lacklustre mahogany, as his mind started to drift into its own thoughts again.

The weather refused to cooperate with increasing spirits; instead reflecting the tedious emotions that settled awkwardly in the pit of his stomach. Plump, saliva-coated lips were pressed together harshly, forming a line that wasn't willing to move, as he continued to look out of one of the many classroom windows. Having a window seat was probably the only thing Calum liked about this class. He could look into the surroundings, and avert his attention to whatever conversation was occurring. Many a time has he seen several arguments, followed by a rare punch and a smug walk of whoever appeared victorious. The majority of the time however, the stained glass consistently revealed a blank car park.  Several different vehicles of teachers would line up adjacent to each other, with only colour and size to differentiate as to who owned what. This time, the view outside was similar to a deserted area. One car was evident, but only with the fierce concentration of ones vision. It confused Calum, but as the reminder that exams were looming ahead, he knew how this system worked. Many teachers refused to comply with the several delinquents that made up the student population of the school.

An acclaimed negative reputation was enough to deal with, so staff decided to leave the rebels to deal with themselves. And as any other teacher would say: 

"They'll learn when they have nothing going for them." 

However, the minority of intelligent students were the ones they decided to focus their minds on. Once the period of school hours ended, the school would immediately evacuate. Students would find relief in leaving the dull building; as bodies would instantly relax before the next school day. Although students stuck with the same schedule, the "elite" would stay. AP classes, as well as booster sessions were what they lived for. School was their second home, and it was completely understandable. They received the upmost respect from the teachers who would despise the majority. And if a delinquent would ever see a teacher act so positive to another student, they would be completely baffled. To the brainy kids; it was normal. To the rest: it was frankly weird. The constant reminder that no attention would be paid towards him for at least the remainder of the year continued to occupy Calum's thoughts, the further he continued to stare out of the window. A distinct amount of distasteful thoughts continued to flood his mind, pushing out any information that managed to stick within the depths of his imaginative mind. Spacious grey clouds seemed to surround the school building, causing the exterior and area of the school to look more dismal than already. With wooden fences draped in illegal vandalism, different coloured spray paints showed the extent of the abuse this area has suffered from: mainly due to the irregular fading of colours. Grass was protected by the rotting wood, but never seemed to try and uphold any form of nature's beauty. Dying plants accompanied the critically long shreds of grass, allowing the perfect environment for weeds and pests to prosper and develop. And if that wasn't enough for Calum Hood; the inevitable thunder storm was enough for him to wish that he was curled up in the comfort of bed sheets again.

But alas, he was stuck here for a short while. It's been said among teachers that his chances of passing are slim. Cups of coffee and biscuits would be shared on a squeaky clean silver platter, ruthlessly stating what the odds are that he will proceed onto University. What teachers didn't know was that sport was getting him to the future. Back at home, Calum's desk was usually scattered with several letters from universities from across the country. All offering the same thing: a sports scholarship. Watching him play a game wasn't enough to do it justice; and maybe thats why his love was particularly undeniable. Calum would always be overwhelmed every time a letter from an unknown place arrived at his doorstep. But once more well-known institutions started to arrive: reality started to settle in. Grades, in his situation, may not be what's necessary to leave the past behind. 

"Mr Hood. I need you to stay behind"

And with that, the bell of freedom rang. The loud and high pitched sound reverberated throughout the minuscule classroom; resulting the synchronised breath of relief from many students. Calum, on the other hand, was now out of tune. This was the first time that he's been called back in Art History: and the timing is whats confusing him the most. Why now towards the end of the year? His accompanying thoughts to the news were disrupted by a cold, firm hand that placed itself on his shoulder. Instinctively, Calum shook in response. He looked back to see a dazed and exhausted Michael Clifford. The expression on his face was ambiguous: confused, but knew why he was being pulled back in this manner. A short breath emitted from Michael allowed a hot breath to press against Calum's cold skin, increasing the apprehension that begun to settle in his body. He never seemed to do well with physical contact. Unless, his body was cut off by alcohol. His mind would always run free, allowing him to be as extreme as possible, with a cheers to another drink that ruthlessly travelled down his throat. On the other hand, he was anxiety ridden when sober. It was as if human contact terrified him to some extent, and trust was minuscule among people. Calum didn't know why he felt like this, but at the end of the day he didn't want to. The only stranger he could think of with ease, was the boy whom he ran into at the start of the school day. 

Loud chatter and the squeaky sound of shifting chairs was prominent for a few minutes, as students hurriedly left the classroom. The art geeks were the last to leave. Their signature look was familiar to the boys: and it was unusually intriguing for Calum. They held tightly onto large encyclopaedias that would keep them awake for several hours during the night; granting them with the permission to study each known, as well as an undermined artist with great passion and curiosity. Exceptionally, Calum was rarely called back in lessons. The majority of the time: teachers were too focused on themselves to care about another trouble-maker. The bewilderment and intrusiveness was evident in all aspects, but mainly his face. The familiar unappeased grin was well known to his Art History teacher, and today was no exception. A loud slam of the door signified the final exit; an art geek, who clutched onto an encyclopaedia as if it was their child. Calum's eyebrow raised in pure exacerbation, as a chair was patiently waiting in front of the teacher's desk. It only took a minute for Calum to solemnly saunter over to the desk, leaving his teacher nervous about the impending conversation. 

"You really need to sort yourself out Calum."

His statement seemed to pull Calum back for a moment. Sure teachers like to verbally critique, but it never went to that extent. Typical first sentences included: "Stop being disrespectful", or the constantly repeated "Improve your behaviour." It was weird for Calum Hood to encounter a speech that included anything peculiar or different than to what was commonly said. Maybe not so much for others who knew how it usually worked.

"You're grades are slipping, and not to mention your bleak attitude."

"Well what do you expect? The last thing I care about is this. It isn't relevant to me in the slightest."

"Tough luck mate. Pass or get nowhere in life."

The awkward silence that filled the already desolate classroom only intensified the tension between Calum and his Art History teacher. It was mainly inevitable that Calum would take control on the situation, and dominate in getting his way, but this time was different. A usual smug grin and cocked eyebrow was replaced with the firm line that refused to change in the slightest throughout the days events. The only time he can remember the change in the emotion, or at least posture, was running into the boy earlier. A slight shock of happiness, then replaced by the same blank emotions once his two feet carried him into the doomed classroom. Short, but quick thoughts about the unknown boys presence continued to reappear in his thoughts. Once he thought they were gone, they returned. The encounter earlier struck him, and it felt weird. The pair of hazel eyes he stumbled upon were a pair he hoped to see in the near future. What Calum didn't know was that his little wish was going to come true sooner than he thought. 

"I have a proposal for you: Mr Hood."

An already anxiety-ridden Calum Hood didn't know how to respond. Any ideas formed by his teachers stuck in his mind as having "the worst intentions." And as several ideas started to immerse into his mind, the possibilities didn't seem as interesting. There was nothing he could think off; and the immense headache that continued to shoot pains in his skull refused to dim for at least a minute. He continued to twiddle his thumbs instinctively: a habit he always had in either confusing or nerve-racking situations. Shaky black jean clad legs refused to take away the awkward silence as the irritating sound of tapping feet resulted in the squeaky floors emitting a rather disturbing sound filling the empty air. The sound from his nervous posture was strangely similar to a noise one would hear in a modern day horror film: but particularly when a protagonist tightly clutching onto a dimly light flashlight would feel the presence of haunted spirits. A rather fake cockiness started to make itself present in Calum's bothersome attitude through the conversation, and his reply would cement that:

"Like what?"

His response was a general reply any student would say: it was just the way he said it that was frankly a piss take. It was as if he didn't have any faith in his teacher: and any verbal "proposal" that would leave dry chapped, nervous lips would be one that was doomed to fail. There was an aspect to Calum's attitude which meant that he was unusually smug. It was now time for him to learn that he isn't as supreme as he thinks he is. What could happen in less than a short while would shatter his bubble of protection that he believed no one could pop.

"After-school sessions?"

"Better things to do with my time."

"Additional pieces of homework or more assignments?"

"Life's too short."

"What about one of my best students tutor you?"

The idea of having a tutor was one Calum would only associate with core subjects: such as Maths and Chemistry. Although the exam for Art History had a similar format to such subjects, the idea of having a tutor for it was pretty obscene; practically difficult to comprehend such ideas coming to life. Calum knew that a recommended "tutor" would most likely be a geek in said area, and that was the least favoured group of social class he would like to associate himself with. Impending thoughts about hanging out with nerds who revelled in renaissance paintings made him shudder in bewilderment, leaving Calum astounded as to why his teacher would think of such an erratic idea. Calum's facial expressions were blank; clearly the direct antithesis to what was rumbling inside of his body. Several emotions were flying in circles as to all the negative outcomes, and the current atmosphere he was situated in denied any positive cooperation. 

Calum's teacher was unusually verbal about the current circumstances regarding his progress. The majority of the time, he learned to stay silent when relevant. A distinct teacher-student relationship was clearly evident between Calum and his teacher; but primarily based on fear and dominance. One wrong move from his Art History teacher, and it would tragically lead to a tense atmosphere and shattered glass decorating mud-covered floors. This time around, however, the fear refused to encapsulate his body and stop him from doing what was right. He knew that Calum was on the verge of breaking, and if his head wasn't screwed back together in the matter of a few months, there would be problems. Stress always had the capability to break students, and from personal experience: he refused to be liable for that. He may have a particular distaste towards Calum, but seeing suffering first hand was reprehensible. His teacher could also sense the slight tinge of fear developing in Calum's gut:

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

All Calum could do at this point was shrug his shoulders in approval, with a dipped head that left strands of ebony hair flailing downwards in response. His motion wasn't an act of shame or surrender, but rather out of annoyance and a tender mind. The frigid chill of cheap high school air-conditioning left Calum motionless: now wasn't the time to test his patience, let alone nag him for multiple hours on end. And with Calum's ambiguous shrug of possible approval, it took all but a few minutes before a quiet knock engulfed the partially empty room. Another muted knock accompanied the first, before the evident sound of strident metal caught the attention of both personnel already sat in the forlorn classroom. 

With a rapid blink of strained bloodshot eyes, Calum reluctantly turned around to meet his now prospective tutor. Whilst his teacher had a realistic grin now pulling both sides of his mouth apart, Calum was now developing emotions one would feel when starstruck. The boy from earlier now stood close to the door; only a mere few metres from Calum's physical presence. The initial reaction was more than just confusing. Lust, frustration, confusion and anger seemed to be flowing towards the most sensitive parts of his body, leaving him dazed for a split second before recovering back to the events of reality. 

"Ashton."

"Sir."

The boy declined even a small glance towards Calum, leaving him particularly isolated as he let the current events continue to process into his mind. The boy who stood proudly behind him had the presence to someone who loved contemporary and modern styles of art, not centuries old pastel paintings of multicoloured swirls. Maybe it was time to stop judging books by their covers. One distinct feature that Calum noticed with the immediate eye contact upon him was that the several splotches of paint were now gone. Instead, revealing clean hands and prominent veins on the backs of each. Long fingers followed large palms, causing Calum to think immediate thoughts about the prospect of his touch against his body. High black material continued to clothe his body, emphasising certain areas already bulging with thick muscle. Built biceps and thighs, covered in knight-black material was enough for Calum to feel desire and drool over such looks, but the distaste in the hazel-eyed boys eyes prevented such instinctive movements.With hair still pulled back tightly, small, wavy baby hairs lay gently on his forehead; eyes still focused on one of his favourite teachers.

Calum's thoughts were more than abstract now. There was currently a small voice in the back of his mind, gently whispering that his teacher knew of the small encounter. That the significance was evident; even if he never said a word. Calum however, refused to believe the ghostly whisper. He could only remember an empty corridor that only contained him and Ashton, with no one else to distract from the mere few seconds of contact. Ashton: the name suited him well, Calum thought to himself. And with eyes that now diverted from his presence, as pupils surrounded by chocolate irises started to dilate slowly, showing the full extent of how vulnerable he now was.

**"You called me here?"**

"I have a favour. Mr. Hood here has landed himself in the unfortunate position of standing on a fine line between passing and failing. My worries are high, and I need one of my most elite to tutor him. So I thought of you. I'll let the two of you continue this discussion alone." 

Their teacher spoke with an unusually crude tone in his voice; signifying the distaste and frank disgust of having to disturb an intelligent mind. Ashton was always a student who shone in his class; and the last thing he wanted was to divert his attention onto Calum. And with his minuscule lecture now complete, he solemnly walked out of the classroom. He gave Ashton a smooth and quick nod: possibly his form of an apology as the partially rusted doors opened and closed with an eery squeak. 

Calum and Ashton were now alone. With their teacher now out of the sum, a substantial amount of options could possible over within the five minutes that the pair would speak towards each other. Ashton's attention now diverted to an exhausted Calum who continued to fall into a starstruck oblivion from Ashton, who was now starting to get closer. He took a couple of steps forward: the heels of his chocolate brown chelsea boots clicking against hollow wooden floorboards. All that could be heard from the outside world was a chilly gust of wind push against glass windows, making the current atmosphere slightly more awkward as the artistic boy finally spoke to him:

**"So you need my help?"**

The tone in Ashton's voice was probably the most neutral it had been through his entire presence in the dull classroom. Hazel orbs stayed light,gently glimmering against the warm ray of light from the afternoon sun. Two arms folded together as he patiently waited for a response; with Calum's reply more than likely unpredictable, as well as a possible ice-breaker.

"I guess so. The name's Calum."

**"Ash."**

Ashton was closer now: practically less than a metre away. The tension between the two was rising now, and its only their second time meeting. Calum's posture mirrored Ash; with two arms folded, and the upper half of his chest pushing his body forward. Closer to the artist, who was now his tutor. Cool breaths tinged with peppermint gently blew onto Calum's tan skin, causing his eyes to flutter closed with a gentle speed. Ashton's lips kept apart, allowing Calum a full view of a slick, wet tongue that coated soft lips. Such feelings towards a boy were ones Calum wasn't sure as to whether he felt them before, but he knew now that he enjoyed the pleasurable feeling that soothed the stress that previously pumped through his veins erratically. However, he knew now that this moment wasn't the time to feel such hot feelings of lust. Keeping sexy feelings low wasn't as easy as Calum thought. 

**"Tomorrow, my art studio. After school."**

Calum and Ashton were practically face-to-face now. Calum could smell the faint mixture of cinnamon and sugar that lingered on the material of Ashton's clothes: allowing him to inhale the scent of delicious sweet treats that he didn't mind one but. Ashton on the other hand, inhaled the lingering scent of musky cologne. A manly scent was always something that attracted Ashton, and this time wasn't an exception. What he did know was that Calum was dangerous. He knew about the poor treatment Calum was more than accustomed to, to give people of Ashton's "kind". Incorporating his lustful desire may not be the best option now. And with lips teasing close to brushing against the plump skin of Calum's mouth, all Ashton could do was leave Calum waiting until tomorrow evening. 

"Fine."

**"Fine."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You should follow me on tumblr :0)](http://michaelgordcn.tumblr.com/)


	3. Studio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a day getting to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to end it at here! I personally believe this plot works better with a shorter story. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! Leave kudos and comment please :)

There were always certain times of the day, where the desolate feelings that swarmed Calum's body disintegrated fairly quickly. The moment he returned to his own house, the several pressures that uncomfortably mounted in his mind would always fade. Time would always be spent getting to know his bedroom once again; ensuring that time was spent either with a head pressed against a fluffy duck feathered pillow, or blaring the latest in punk through amplified speakers. A backpack full of several different textbooks would inevitably be thrown onto mud-stained hardwood floors, with tense shoulder muscles reclining in relief. The best thing, in Calum's mind, was that he didn't have to deal with the conversations of his parents from the floor below. Two muffled voices would always catch the attention of him, even if he didn't want to. There were several times in which he's overheard certain words or discussions in the past that he knew he could have lived without knowing, with Calum only questioning the legitimacy and truth of complicated terms.

Upon first entrance into the spacious house, matte navy coloured paint added to the solemn looking hallway that held necessities such as umbrellas and shoes. With only a limited amount of daylight shining through the stained glass of the mahogany front door, the afternoon was just as dull as his current emotions. The living room had a fresh scent of lavender, appeasing Calum's shallow mood as a diverse amount of paintings decorated the walls. A polystyrene box covered by cheap plastic bags lay on top of the glass coffee table in the centre of the room. Calum opened the box to reveal a greasy burger with a portion of chips to accompany, a freezing can of coke standing next to the fatty meal. His symbolic varsity jacket was pulled off his heated body and thrown to the sofa opposite to where he now sat, as his body now sat firmly on the stiff leather sofa. His left hand held tightly onto the chilling fizzy drink whilst Calum continued to devour the remaining few deep-fried chips in the yellow box. Another long sip, and the carbonated liquid burned lightly from the cooling sensation; making him thirsty for more. 

The ecstatic sounds that blared through the large TV proceeded to bore Calum slightly, as repeats of Kerrang! news became more frequent, and repetitive. Long periods of time spent channel surfing would do nothing, leaving Calum with thoughts to improvise as the day continued to descend into evening. He wanted to be distracted. He thought he needed to deter his mind from the several confusing thoughts that refused to leave his memory. Today proved to be both a blessing and a curse. The sacrilege of a conversation with a teacher whom he disliked seemed to be repressed once Ashton entered. Upon his first entrance, the several elements that intrigued Calum in the first place returned with an immediate threat. His body felt tingles and gentle shivers he never encountered in other moments of his high school experience. Even a drunk night out wouldn't provide him with the swirl of butterflies that contently fluttered; making him more nervous by the second. Calum never expected to believe that a person, let alone an alcoholic substance, would pleasure him. The only memories he could remember from consuming excessive amounts of vodka were only happy memories. Yet they were the only memories he could "remember" from partaking in such activities. Mind losing connection and living in it's own world, keeping him up till all hours. A glass bottle tightly grasped in one hand, only empty for five minutes maximum before placing the cold bottle to kiss swollen lips once again. The cherry on top would always be Calum's hand intertwined with another, as stoned minds and souls led themselves up a flight of stairs to an abandoned bedroom to end the night. 

Calum didn't expect for such feelings to be set aside from a person, let alone the social class that Ashton belonged to. Art geeks were never appreciated in Calum's world, and now he was beginning to question his vows he believed that he would abide by. Calum constantly thought that the world he lived in, only dwelled upon his attention and nothing else. Everything would either be Calum's way, or no way. A book of rules: one may describe it as, with entrenched opinions only he could amend. Say that he followed his mind in this manner a while ago, and Calum would have nodded his head with enthusiasm. Now, on the other hand, blank eyes and stiff hands would be the only signs of any response. His heart is baffled with his mind, and vice versa. What does he think of Ashton?

It was a feeling people could correlate with lust. A desire to feel the warmth of his body, leaving Calum in awe of the shorter honey haired boy that stood in front of him. Warm calloused hands he desperately needed to feel against his cold skin, that would pull him into the embrace of the art student and hopefully never let go. Calum's thoughts became more unholy as soon from any reminder of Ashton. Bare skin: defined abs pressed against Calum's tan complexion, as lips roamed freely across each others bodies. With fingers intertwined and plastered sweaty bodies, eyes would flutter shut from the immense pleasure. Calum was still sat, an alone, cold body pressed against stiff leather as the last reminisce of daylight faded. The sky was now an array of several warm colours, but his mind refused to think about other things. All he wanted to do was think about the boy. Time seems to fly by when thinking about one whom has a particular amount of significance; as it wasn't working to his advantage. A pair of clicking heels walked in synchronisation with another pair of feet, as the front gate slowly squeaked. The familiar mumbling of his parents could be heard, leaving Calum in a partially difficult position. As soon as his mother pressed the house against a lock, Calum was up off of his feet. The half-empty polystyrene box now held cold greasy contents, adjacent to several other trinkets whilst Calum was now descending up the flight of stairs to his safe-haven. With the remaining shards of a stressful day that cut through vulnerable skin; the last thing that he needed right now was to possibly start an argument with his parents.

"Calum?"

But once the name of her son left chapped lips, his bedroom door shut with an immediate bang. Calum was now cut off from the world for a while. Content and warm, until the familiar alarm would ring at 6am tomorrow morning.

* * *

It felt like the same morning routine since the drunken escapades of the weekend are now gone; leaving Calum in the same sluggish mood but with major sleep deprivation. There were several times during the night where he woke in a cold sweat, and would forget the reason within a couple of minutes. With a strong headache and eyes bloodshot from tears; alarming thoughts would consume his mind and body, leaving him scared to drift back to sleep. Whether it be from thoughts of the future, or simply the possible events of tomorrow, he was lost from 3am. A chilling heavy beat of his heart was the alone sound he could hear, leaving him isolated as his parents were knocked out in the room adjacent. Microscopic stars were visible from sheer curtains, as Calum started to take control of his body. One possible idea he didn't think of, however, was his partying habits. The majority of the time, a heavy night meant inadequate sleep. Mistaken trips left him paranoid and astray, but were blind in the eyes of his parents. And with the same alarm ringing at dawn, it reminded him of the reality he now had to face: meeting Ashton for the second time. Somehow: without acknowledging it himself, Ashton was making Calum happy. Even the slightest thought about the art student, and an instinctive smile would appear on his face. With dilated pupils and slight blushed cheeks, he was optimistic about the future with him. One may call it loved up, another would call it whipped. Either way, Calum was developing feelings he never thought would arise in a personality like his. 

He took two steps into the school building through the usual main entrance, and caught a glimpse of the atmosphere he was accustomed to. Gaunt hallways packed with several students; all living within their own thoughts five minutes before the first lesson started. Couples were either walking hand-in-hand, or relentlessly making-out against a worn locker. High pitched voices of cheerleaders filled the skinny corridors, alongside metal music that the "goths" would only listen to. There was a lack of diversity in this school, and times like this always showed it. The old building contained all of the stereotypical traits and groups of a quintessential high school; but nothing more. And although Calum contributed to the average high school, it was becoming more obvious with each day that it was getting boring. 

Again, he thought of Ashton. It was as if Calum was living a controlled lifestyle, and crossing any form of boundary would be explicitly wrong. Seeing a human who wasn't clad in a varsity jacket, or a cheerleader uniform pleasantly surprised him. With undesirable thoughts that used to occupy his mind about anyone outside of his group, there was now a different perspective. Of course, there was still a distaste. But there were now exceptions; something that in the past which would have never been offered with arms wide open. The thought of his growing crush got him out of creased bedsheets, past the inevitable sour moments with his parents, and into school. And maybe, for just once: Calum could finally appreciate the actions of at least one of his teachers.

With the regular sound of the obnoxiously loud bell, the ears of many students heavily rung as pupils finally descended from the hallways into classroom. Farewell, and "see you later" kisses and hugs were passed around like a jar of sweets, the closer the clock came to the start of first period. Heads and faces of familiar faces faded as the classrooms along packed up, giving an eery, yet usual silence. The routine of this school abided by a rigorous timetable for several years, with the only exception being school holidays. Ever since his first year from the age of 14, Calum knew exactly which classroom was where and the days where late lay-ins would become the regular. The upbeat drums of All-Time Low would be playing though considerably board headphones, observing the timetable for the very first time. Taking him all but a week to settle down, the routine was exactly the same. But today was also an exception. An unusual text from the school at 7:30am meant that Calum's timetable was suspended all day. But considering the "helping" was supposed to take place after school, finding out initially was bittersweet. It was the first step outside from the moment the front door shut, and a chime was audible to an exhausted Calum Hood. Being Notified of such a change resulted in an impulsive smile forming along plump lips; with the mention that he was to spend the day with Ashton. Initially, the thought of an american football player being an assistant would frankly make anyone cringe, but not today. 

The now calm, and partially empty hallways gave Calum more than enough time. His attention cut him off from the quiet greetings from "friends"; as music continued to blast through a new set of earphones. The concept of bringing his backpack was now pointless, as the several textbooks that brought a harsh pain to his shoulders weren't needed at all today. On the other hand, it brought his outfit together; to a certain extent. Another all-black outfit, seemingly different from the rest. Raven coloured locks styles in a usual mohawk, to distract from the unpleasant red veins aligning tired eyes. The lacklustre of his skin emphasised the exhaustion that settled throughout his body, and refused even a second cup of black coffee. Walking for two minutes maximum only accentuated the darning spirit that seemed to engulf his body, as a quick turn of a brass doorknob revealed a view that woke him up. 

An art studio: made for a student, and designed for a student. The identical doors that filled the corridor showed the stark differences. Classrooms to the left, and right, were both occupied by students who lifelessly wrote down on dull paper. Here, on the other hand, showed the extent of passion through the fervour put in by students, that covered the paint stained walls. Large stacks of paper and art supplies were unevenly spread across the large, low room. And only alone for a few seconds, a distinct accent took Calum from the small daze that was slowly pulling from limb-to-limb. 

**"Calum!"**

The energy in his voice seemed to wake Calum, as he immediately pulled out his earphones to gaze upon the artist at work. Matching Calum in another black outfit, Ashton's hands were stained with several coloured paints. The initial look and he was instantly reminded of the first time they ever met. Calum wasn't particularly sure why: but laying eyes on Ashton for the very first time, felt like the first time. And now it reminds him of the spur of events, as well as change in thought. Within a couple of days: Calum met a boy, felt an instant attraction, and with the help of a despised teacher, is closer to Ashton. Every moment or event that included Ashton and Calum together, would be gracefully planted into his mind. Gracefully, due to the fact that Calum was now finding peace in such a hectic life.

On instinct, Ashton gently took ahold of Calum's hand. The small, but intimate gesture provided them with ease, knowing that there was no uncomfortable feelings. Compared to the awkward tones from one person to another yesterday, the tables may have turned in a good way. The silence wasn't awkward, but peaceful. He could see the excitement in Ashton's eyes, but didn't know if it was because of him. Either way, today was to be a day that neither would forget. The ambiguity in their relationship was to become more clear and easy to understand. 

* * *

**"Look up for me please?"**

Neither Calum or Ashton knew how the day led to such a thing taking place. It has been only a mere 4 hours of being situated in the art studio, and Calum was to become the main figure in Ashton's final art project. His posture was straight, with a blank expression to accompany the unusual formal pose. Chocolate eyes set forward, intently watching the movements of the honey haired boy in front of him. His mind was ridden of anything but questions as to what was next, as the persistent silence of the rooms left and right refused to disturb the content silence. Beforehand, cleaning and tutoring was on the agenda. The stained paint and oil pastel patterns remained intact on dirty beige walls, with paints and supplies perfectly aligned and in easy reach. General chatter consumed the majority of the time; from hobbies to favourite foods. Ashton, however, knew the responsibility he set. An hour of passionate lectures led to Calum being tutored in several areas he was struggling in. The enthusiasm and love that accompanied long strides caught the attention of an already now awake Calum: who refused to move from his seated position. Ashton was showing a side Calum thought he would never witness from anyone he was affiliated with. Most of the time, Calum saw violence, popularity and greed in the eyes of acquaintances who stood by his side. He saw disappointment and confusion in the eyes of his parents, and ambiguity in his own. Ashton however, was different. Calum thought he knew that, but he finally realised today. Maybe an art geek wasn't so bad after all. 

Not to mention, the romantic tension continued to develop. From the subtle gesture of hand holding, even for a minute, to faces dangerously close to locking lips. And although Ashton was only 2 metres away from Calum, it continued to build at an alarmingly fast pace. With the infamous Led Zeppelin playing from an old boombox in the outskirts of the studio, all attention was focused on each other. The longest they were going was five seconds without making eye contact. Calum, mainly because he had to keep his eyes forward. He was to become a muse for Ashton. Ashton, on the other hand, was now realising his muse was also a distraction. Hazel eyes would constantly fall into the depths of warm brown orbs, leaving his warm inside as the perfection in skill continued to translate on paper. He continued to pick out all the small details, wanting the draft to be as immaculate as possible. **"Move to the left." "Don't slump." "Chin up."**  The slogans would constantly leave his mouth in order, with a quiet huff from Calum to end each mini statement as he followed. Standing in the same position for half an hour proved to be more stressful than expected, or anticipated; and it was becoming more evident.  **  
**

The sound of pencil scratching paper became less audible, and eventually non-existent as the strain was now starting to affect Ashton. It would be around every few seconds, where the pencil would be flipped to the other side to erase a minor detail, causing to stress to amount. Calum was now slightly guilt ridden, and was more than willing to make slight amends after seeing delicate tears line the inner rims of Ashton's eyes. Ashton's response to Calum moving became irrelevant in his thoughts; he just couldn't handle the upset that threatened the joy that encapsulated the day. The desire to be more intimate continued to grow, but neither denied or wanted to stop it.

"Hey, hey."

Calum's touch was now more soft and gentle, as the tears that proceeded to stream down blushed cheeks was wiped but the pad of his thumb. The panic in Ashton's body eased from his touch, at the reminder of the peace and content that Calum gave him. His expression was humble, as Calum continued to lightly sooth and serenade. The look in his eyes was gentle, reminding Ashton that he wasn't a threat.

**"Sorry."**

"No need to be. You're incredible, and don't forget it."

And with that, Calum's hand slowly moved from his cheek, to his jaw. He felt like it was now or never to show his feelings, and what Ashton really wanted was peace. Plump lips gently pressed against Ashton's, patiently waiting for approval for him, to which he was granted. With fingers intertwined together, and eyes fluttered shut from the warm feeling, they were both knew that an amicable friendship wasn't enough. But who knew that this would happen within the space of a few days?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on tumblr x](http://www.michaelgordcn.tumblr.com)


End file.
